We went to check out some things in Champaign-Urbana, where we want to relocate. It could have been like a mini-vacay, but I experienced anxiety and heartache? at leaving my girls. However, the trip did involve recurrent Starbucks and no one ever asked if we were there yet.

Stayed with HME’s mother. (We’ll call her Viv.) Viv has twin girls about the age of my own girls, because life is chockablock full of wonderful surprises like that. Having not seen Viv in about seven years, she says to me, “Oh my gosh, you’re so tan!”
Old news. Even vampires can get a tan if they live in Georgia for seven years. My original color is somewhere between iridescent opal and manila folder, depending on the season. I hope it doesn’t take seven years for this tan to fade.
I always enjoy staying with Viv, because the more things change, the more they stay the same, and old friends are the best friends, and other assorted similar clichés, that sorta thing.

Went to get our headlamp replaced before the sun went down. Found out we needed two new front tires. Although I do not like to spend money on tires, you must admit that the headlamp going out was serendipitous, as had it not gone out, we might have had a dreadful tire incident.

We went to see a house we thought we might want. We do not want that house. The *makes quotes* dining room is a tiny 3×4 space. The dimensions given online were not accurate. I know this because The Mister measured our dining table more than a month ago to see if it would fit in the *makes quotes* dining nook there. It’s a much more suitable place for a dog crate, a baker’s rack, perhaps a standing deep freeze, or a bistro table for two unusually thin people – certainly not a dining table.
But it’s really okay, because the house is overpriced, especially when shown while it’s filthy. The property guy told me they’d have it cleaned. I asked, “Professionally cleaned?” He said yes, and I said, “Good call.” As I opened the cabinets, all I could imagine was how I’d need to find a BOGO sale on Pine-Sol.
But you know, the thing about disappointment is that inevitably, something more accommodating is headed our way.

I tried to go eat at Strawberry Fields, how I always do when I’m there. Well, it’s a whole other thing now: way more store, a lot less eatery. I walked up to the man who was making coffee behind the counter, “I haven’t been here in about seven years, and it’s all different now. Where is the eating, please?” He said, “Technically, this is the eating area..” He directed me to pre-made sandwiches and salads in a nearby cooler.

Yeah. So.

We finally ate at Jimmie John’s for the first time. I am not young and hip enough to enjoy that place. I have a hard time tolerating remakes of Violent Femmes songs, let alone at a decibel level that rivals their actual concerts.

I ate about a quarter of my sammich before I just took it apart to get at the veggies, holy chewy bread. Also? If you’re gonna ask me how I want my pickle cut, and then push a corresponding button for ¼, please do cut the pickle in ¼, otherwise, I will assume you don’t understand fractions. We spent our time at the Jimmie John’s eating too quickly, while staring at the happy people enjoying their lunch at the adjacent Mexican grill. Great Cherry Coke though, I really enjoyed that 😛

We went to a job fair for The Mister. It was also a disappointment, because only about half the employers showed up, and then many of the people at the booths were all, “Go online.” Sheesh, that makes ya wonder why they set up a booth to begin with! He made some good headway, there, though.

I had a tremendous time people-watching.

(I can’t get a job until he gets a job, because I am not the primary breadwinner, pursuant to our agreed-upon sexist, traditionalist, old-fashioned, outdated marriage which you might not relate to, which is fine, because we’re not married to you.)

Back in my day, a job fair at a college was different. For instance, men wore ties. Period. No one wore track suits, sweat pants, tee shirts, pants hangin off their asses, skirts that barely covered their business. I was in awe. There was a young woman in the pajama pants, with the pink hair and a baby in a stroller, pushin him around from booth to booth lookin for a job. I had the urge to keep her baby with me and give her a quick bathroom makeover, but I resisted, as my shoes hurt my feet so badly, I didn’t want to walk to the bathroom, and for all I know, she’d ditch her kid with me and run off to join the circus.

Instead, I sat with a group of young people who had never filled out job applications before. They were precious.

Despite my shoes, I did talk to one booth, which advertised higher education. Two ladies stood in front of a sign which clearly read “Master’s degree.” I asked them what Master’s degree programs they offered. They didn’t know. I thought that sounded promising, as maybe they had too many to remember. One lady grabbed a pamphlet and the other lady asked me, “What was your Associate’s in?” Omalord, people, SRSLY?

“My Bachelor’s is in English and Education,” I said. I question whether they actually work at the University. I think they might have been two volunteer college mommies who got their hair cut at the same place, bought matching scarves, and decided they could stand next to one another not knowing anything together for four hours.

When we left the job fair, I asked The Mister, “So how does it feel to be at the top of the gene pool?”

I hope our next trip to the area has a lot more of Viv and twins, and a lot less disappointment.